


Tardy

by amproof



Series: Hugh PicFic [1]
Category: Australian Actor RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-28
Updated: 2010-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:31:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amproof/pseuds/amproof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hugh is late to a photoshoot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tardy

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the the Hugh picfic series I did, in which stories are inspired by photos. Pictures are at the end of the story.

  
Hugh arrives to the photoshoot apologizing profusely for his tardiness. "Three hours late isn't just tardy...it's rude," his father the accountant would say. The photographer is trotting down the stairs when Hugh bolts out of his car.

"I'm sorry, mate," Hugh says. "Do you want to do this inside?" He pushes a lock of unwashed hair off his forehead.

The photographer stops him. "Just...just right there. Sit right there." Hugh lowers himself onto the step. The photographer twitches with unspent nervousness--the terror of losing his commission. His hands flutter in front of his face. "I thought you weren't coming. I have to pick up my kids in ten minutes," the photographer says.

"I am so sorry. I overslept." The photographer doesn't bat an eye, but Hugh knows he has just given a loser's excuse, so he lamely adds, "I was out with Russell Crowe," as if this will explain everything. Hugh makes a mental note to tell Russell Crowe what he can do with himself the next time Russell suggests an Aussie night out. Russell and his pals have five years of drinking experience on Hugh. Five years is nothing when it comes to relationships, but drinking is a different matter. Hugh's head exploded before Russell was hitting his buzz, and today he gathered up the remnants and patched himself together like a figurative Frankenstein's monster.

"You're here now." The photographer sounds like Hugh's mother, practical and pleased, with an undertone of exasperation. "This will only take a second."

"I'm alright wearing this?" He is about to set a record for longest time spent in one t-shirt. He has worked, partied, and slept in it. He hopes the photographer will not ask him to remove his jacket as it is the only thing protecting the world from the stench of cigarettes (Russell's) and sweat (his).

The photographer checks his watch. "I have to get the kids in eight minutes. T-ball tournament's today. Really, you're fine as you are."

"If you say so, mate." Hugh spreads his fingers over his hair. It falls oddly on either side of his forehead. He feels it sticking together in the way that only unwashed hair can. Hugh is slightly stunned when the flash starts, and it captures him looking like he has just received a compliment he doesn't understand. As the shots continue, Hugh's right hand migrates towards his left, searching out his wedding ring. His eyes change slightly when he doesn't feel it, as if his stability is misplaced. He has thirty seconds to worry. Each bright light and shutter click increases his confusion. He squeezes his finger, feeling out the imprinted skin where the ring should be.

Only when the photographer stops does Hugh remember thirty-five cents and a drinks voucher emptied from his pockets into a decorative ashtray the night before and his ring laying beside it waiting for the morning. He is relieved. His legs strain as he stretches off the steps.

"Thanks, Hugh. You were great."

"Say good luck to your kids for me. I hope they win."

The photographer chuckles. "It's t-ball. They don't keep score, and everyone gets a trophy."

"I wish the Oscars were like that." Hugh smiles and means it, which is the only way he knows how. He says goodbye and gets into his car. He can see the photographer hailing a cab in his rearview mirror. He wonders if he should have offered him a ride, then catches a whiff of himself, and decides that the man would probably pass out if he were trapped in close quarters with him, and not for a flattering reason. Hugh puts the car's blinker on and turns towards home. He will shower, put on his ring, and fumigate his t-shirt. It will be a good day.

The End


End file.
